


The Usurper

by Histoireettralala (UselessGoats)



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom, Modern AU- Fandom, Napoleonic Era RPF
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessGoats/pseuds/Histoireettralala
Summary: Napoleon didn't expect Dr Larrey to entrust him with the care of a mysteriously deaged Joachim Murat. He didn't expect the way other people would react either.One thing should be clear though: he definitely wasn't jealous.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Napoleon looked on in astonishment.

"We have done a thorough checking," Dr Larrey was saying." It is very clear, though we might not know _why_ it happened, or _how_ , but it happened: this child is Joachim Murat."

Wide blue eyes were observing him from behind a curtain of wild black curls that Napoleon itched to draw back to better stare at the little face. How old could the boy be ? Four, five maybe ? Napoleon's mind stalled and stuttered.

This _couldn't_ be Murat.

Why, just this morning his silly brother-in-law had joined the office in a right mood, threatening to resign if Napoleon didn't grant him the days off work he'd been requesting for months already. They had given a fine show to their coworkers, Napoleon recalled, still staring at the curious little face in front of him. Murat had threatened to resign, had towered over Napoleon's desk in indignation, Napoleon had retorted he would have his head and why couldn't Murat be content with his lot ?

The little boy was still staring at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Napoleon had to give it to Larrey - if it was a prank (in the name of all gods above and beyond, why would anyone do that ?) the child had been carefully selected. He had, indeed, Murat's luxurious head of hair, his luminous blue eyes, the determined chin, and, Napoleon could see it now, he was likely to grow tall and strong.

Larrey had little sympathy for his situation.

"I cannot take care of him given the situation in the hospital " and yes, Napoleon was ready to retort that of course, Larrey would be the best caregiver a child could have, obviously; but the thrice-damned pandemic and Larrey's irreproachable devotion to his patients trumped his objections.

"Caroline ?" he tried.

"She already has four young children, " Larrey answered, giving Napoleon a _look_. 

Napoleon let out a perfunctory grumble.

"Well, come in, " he told the child.

A miniature Joachim Murat in his house.

 _God help him_.

***

He carefully sat down on the bed, boucing experimentally once the door was closed behind the strange little man. How had the Doctor called him ? He couldn't remember.

He was a little worried but he was a brave boy, he wouldn't let them see how confused and lost he was (who were all these people ? where were papa and mama and his whole family ? where were _they_ ?). The little man seemed strange, but not really mean.

The Doctor had been kind to him, in a rather brisk, but efficient way. Joachim knew that was what many adults called "professional", and he hadn't taken offence to the poking and prodding that had followed his arrival in this strange new place. He was a little weirded out - they seemed to know everything about him (even his _birthday_ !)- but _he_ didn't know anything about _them_.

But he was brave. Maybe this was an Adventure he had to live, just like the knights and heroes of his books. Maybe he was going to be a hero.

 _Yes_.

He could definitively do that.

Emboldened by his train of thoughts, the little boy bounced harder on the bed and giggled. It was a good bed, he thought, it wouldn't break if he jumped a little more.

From behind the door, a shocked still Napoleon slowly realized that _it had really happened_. There was an _actual Joachim Murat in his child form_ in his house. He was going to be responsible for this boy.

Oh, dear Gods old and new.

***

Dinner went on well, Napoleon mused in amazement. The child - he really must get used to calling him Joachim- had shown good manners, a great appetite, and his usual irrepressible cheer. Napoleon was quietly impressed by the boy's good humor, given the circumstances, and rewarded him with smiles, tales, and nods of approbation throughout dinner.

It had been only the two of them tonight - Joséphine being gone for three days to Hortense's home in the Netherlands, and Eugène somewhere between Italy and Bavaria. Napoleon was grateful for that - maybe the child wouldn't have been so open with him if they had been here.

Because tiny Joachim had opened up, full of sunny smiles and roars of laughter. And Napoleon hadn't been able to resist the flood of optimism the boy seemed to bring along with him; his facial muscles ached somewhat, unused to such rigorous exercise. 

He could privately admit it: maybe this wouldn't be a disaster.

When the child started to blink incessantly and took a nosedive toward his plate, Napoleon, with an inward smile, caught him and carefully took him up in his arms - how curious, to be taller and bigger than the dashing Joachim Murat- to bring him to his bedroom, via a short trip to the bathroom. A curly head fell on his shoulder and he swallowed, something twisting in his chest. 

The little boy groaned when Napoleon made him wash his hands, face and teeth, but he obeyed, blinking owlishy, his curls forming a tousled halo around his face.

Napoleon caught himself smiling again.

When the boy was in his bed, out like a light, he stood there a good moment, watching the surprising development his life had just taken. Of course he was going to have to keep Caroline informed of her deaged husband's daily adventures - his sister always complained she never had enough news from Joachim, and Napoleon guessed this now behooved him too.

And if he got out of bed himself once or twice (or thrice) during the night, to check on his unexpected little roommate - well, maybe Joachim would wake up in a panic, not knowing where he was, or maybe he would have a nightmare, or disappear from the house, Napoleon was just being ~~a good p~~ _careful_ \- to find him sound asleep, not a curl missing. Well. No one would ever know.

***

Joséphine was enchanted.

Napoleon wouldn't have thought it possible, but yes. Notwithstanding her animosity toward the adult Murat, his wife obviously found the child Joachim absolutely irresistible, since the simple sight of his curly head brought a smile to her lips. Even the lilt in her voice was deeper, and sweeter, when she talked to the child. 

The little boy beamed back at Joséphine, who ruffled his hair, cooing about precious things and darling treasures (Napoleon suddenly wondered with no small amount of worry, whether Murat would remember all of this when he eventually turned back to adulthood) before dashing back to his previous occupation in the gardens. His laughter echoed in the room and Joséphine smiled at Napoleon, a little wistfully. 

Taking care of a child was a bittersweet thing for them.

Little Joachim was a rambunctious little thing, but happy, cheerful, generous and open-hearted. He didn't conceal anything from him. He could be somewhat naughty, but Napoleon had honestly expected worse. 

There was the morning he had found the kitchen in a right state, a tiny dishevelled Murat trying to save a burnt _something_ in a black, unsalvageable pot; but the child's tearful explanation (he had been trying to make them breakfast, it was supposed be a _good_ surprise, Mr Napoleon) and his obvious sorrow crushed any idea of a punishment in Napoleon's mind - the boy was looking too pitiful, alright ?

There was the day he had "fought" all day against imaginary English foes, chasing them away from the gardens with wild yells and impromptu races, Joséphine's mad little dog running after him, disturbing the birds and sending dust all around their blurry little silhouettes; to end up head first into Joséphine's precious bed of new exotic flowers. But in spite of a pretty impressive bruise and his torn clothes, the little one was only worried about potentially "killing" the pretty flowers. 

Worried ? He was inconsolable, till Joséphine herself took him by the hand to show him the flowers would survive.

Which somehow inspired in him a passion for gardening, to Joséphine's delight.

Napoleon grumbled a little. What was left for him except the chores and homework ? He didn't want to be the stern, disciplinarian parent.

And then he had an Idea.

That very evening, when Joachim was in bed, Napoleon sat by him with a huge book (he had carefully selected one with illustrations) and the child sat up, turning big wondering eyes toward him (and it was heady).

"The _Aeneid_ ", Napoleon said with a crooked smile.

The child's eyes shone.

Thus began their ritual.

  
***

As it turned out, little Joachim Murat LOVED books, and, to Napoleon's unchecked pride, seemed to literally ADORE Napoleon reading to him. Oh, he loved Joséphine's stories, his little giggles of delight whenever she declared it her turn for the bedtime story, and his shiny eyes when she told him about la Martinique, were unfeigned. But there was something special in the air when it was Napoleon holding the _Aeneid_. Something serious, something powerful, something ... 

It was _their_ thing.

Napoleon enjoyed the wide eyes, the little gasps of fright, the bubbling laughter in response to his "voices" ( _yes, he did voices, so what_ ?); there was nothing sweeter than the trust Tiny Murat seemed to have in him, leaning entirely against him, his little head on Napoleon's shoulder, falling asleep in his arms, a small hand still on the book. The first night Joachim fell asleep in his arms, Napoleon couldn't _move_. Joséphine had come, wondering what took him so long. She had found a dumbfounded man, a heavy book on his lap, a small child sound asleep and drooling on his shoulder; stiffling a laugh, she had motioned toward the boy and the bed and Napoleon had _scowled_. Joséphine, still laughing inwardly, had shrugged and tip-toed out of the room. 

Napoleon had looked at his tiny burden. So what if he didn't want to wake the child ?

(So what if he liked the feeling of a child in his arms ?)

************************************

Joachim was happy.

Mr Napoleon wasn't mean at all, just a little grumpy sometimes. Joachim learned he was much better company after he'd had coffee in the morning. 

  
Mr Napoleon was very intelligent and he knew LOADS of things. Playing games with him was fun and Mr Napoleon had shown him tricks and it was GREAT and when they were in the same team they would always win. Always! 

  
Mr Napoleon had TONS of books and he was always willing (when he wasn't working) to tell him about them, and to read them to him. AND he was teaching him how to read, which was AWESOME (Joachim had only known a little bit but now he was making good progress, Mr Napoleon said). 

  
Mr Napoleon didn't yell at him much - he didn't yell at all, even when Joachim was being naughty. He made a _face_ that made Joachim feel very unhappy, and that was almost worse than being yelled at. Joachim _hated_ when Mr Napoleon made that face, it made his belly feel heavy and twisty and it made his cheeks burn and his eyes prickle and he didn't like it at all.

  
Thankfully that didn't happen a lot.

  
Mrs Joséphine was a very pretty lady with a singsong voice, and she knew everything about flowers and birds and she understood how beautiful feathers were (which, it is sad to say, Mr Napoleon didn't get at all - look at how drab his clothes were!) and she dressed wonderfully and they had many a laugh together playing dress up. Joachim had fallen in love with one particularly stunning, large scarlet fan whose soft feathers covered him almost entirely - so soft! so shiny! And Mrs Joséphine hadn't mocked him at all, she had just nodded in understanding.

Mr Dr Larrey had come back one day for a "check up" and after more poking and prodding, had pronounced Joachim perfectly healthy - which Joachim could have told him before, but nobody ever believed little kids, he thought with a hearty sigh. He had even asked him if Mr & Mrs Bonaparte (Mr Napoleon & Mrs Joséphine) took good care of him, and if he was happy here; the Doctor had looked intently at him, as though he was looking for a lie. Joachim had nodded and told the truth. Yes, he was good. Mrs Joséphine was very kind and she had a very pretty laugh and did you know she knew everything about flowers, Mr Dr Larrey ? And Mr Napoleon was a bit silly sometimes and he had weird clothes (Mr Dr Larrey made a strange sort of strangled noise at that) but he was rather nice too.

Mr Napoleon had also introduced him to other people: a Mr Lannes, who had looked at him as though he was growing a second head, a Mr Berthier, who seemed very tired, a Mr Duroc, who was SO NICE! And Mr Bessières who had bent down to his level and talked a little with him and did you know Mr Bessières spoke like Joachim ? Because he did and that made him feel all kinds of _things_. And then there was Mrs Caroline...

Mrs Caroline had looked at him and just squeezed him in her arms, very tight, and maybe Joachim should have been afraid but something about her hugging him like that felt just right. She had held him and kissed his head and patted his cheeks and asked him if he was really, really happy and safe (and she had thrown a threatening look to Mr Napoleon ( _why?_ )) and Joachim had felt a bit overwhelmed with all the untold things that spilled from her eyes when she looked at him like that. When Mrs Caroline had eventually left, he had felt suddenly very lonely.

And then one day a man knocked at the door, and that's how Joachim met Mr Belliard.

***

  
Mr Belliard was AWESOME.

Joachim was so, so happy Mr Belliard was now here. He was like a real friend in a big person's body, which meant he could both laugh and play with Joachim, and ~~protect~~ assist him in his Quests. He loved going to war with him, and Mr Belliard was always saying he would defend and protect His Majesty (Joachim), that he was his aide-de-camp, that Joachim could rely on him. And it was true, the little boy found out.

Somehow, it was easy trusting Mr Belliard. He wasn't afraid at all Mr Belliard would judge him and find him stupid or undeserving, and sometimes, when he was thinking at night, Joachim thought maybe, just maybe, Mr Napoleon _could_ think such things of him, perhaps. This might be unfair, the child mused, biting his lip; Mr Napoleon hadn't done anything to warrant such wariness on his part. But it was what he felt. 

Whereas Mr Belliard was so _easy_.

With Mr Belliard it was like falling and being sure you would be caught, and comforted, before you even got scared.

Little Joachim didn't know how to explain that.

But that was Mr Belliard for you. Joachim was fairly sure he had superpowers - how else could he always divine Joachim's mood, or when he'd taken a naughty decision ? How else could he know how he liked his chocolate ? (Mr Napoleon _still_ got it wrong!) 

Mr Belliard was probably magic.

It didn't hurt that he was also really, _really cool_.

Somehow, in a really weird way, because he'd always been nice to him, things with Mr Napoleon were serious and deep and weighty, and sometimes Joachim really felt like Mr Napoleon expected things of him he couldn't possibly know or give. It was a little bit scary, to be honest. 

Mr Belliard, however, was warm and trusty and comfortable and Joachim never worried he was going to bother him. 

And the way Mr Belliard smiled, his whole face lighting up, whenever he saw Joachim running towards him, well, that made Joachim's day.

***

It wasn't right.

He and the miniature Murat had been going along really well, Napoleon thought, annoyed by how obsessive his thoughts seemed to have turned recently. He hadn't been dreaming it, he told himself, putting the _Aeneid_ back into its shelf. The child liked him, trusted him, relied on him, and seemed to consider him a genius from whom he could always get a solution whenever he met a difficulty - he distinctly remembered tiny Joachim looking up at him admiringly, his eyes shining like a million stars, and telling him in an awed little voice: _"You really can do everything !"._.. The boy respected him, and he even _liked_ him - why else would he have brought him the feathers he had found in the garden, when clearly Joséphine would have been the better choice ? why else would he look at him so trustingly, why would he listen in wonder to whatever Napoleon said about wars, and castles, and great captains ? (Napoleon was pretty sure the only area young Joachim considered him desperately inept was fashion).   
All of this was true.

And yet.

Nowadays it seemed like little Joachim had eyes only for Belliard, whose every word and action he held as the epitome of _cool_ (and how had that cringeworthy word even entered the boy's vocabulary, when Napoleon had been so careful!). 

Mr Belliard knows EVERYTHING about horses, Mr Napoleon. He's so great! Please can I go riding with him ? 

Did you see Mr Belliard's sword collection, Mr Napoleon ? It's so COOL! I want a sword collection just like this when I'm big!

Are you going to come to the horses with us, Mr Napoleon ?

Last night with Mr Belliard I could stay and watch the movies! Mr Belliard didn't think I was A BABY!

A dramatic gasp _" You DON'T LIKE HORSES ?"_

Tiny Murat's face reflected a degree of horror and incomprehension that Napoleon felt wasn't warranted at all. He didn't hate the beasts - they were useful, and beautiful in their way. But he just wasn't one of these horse-worshippers he suspected his brother-in-law had been from birth (Napoleon was damn sure these guys were a different breed - you had to be _mad_ to pine for the cavalry when artillery was clearly the way to go). The child looked at him with a mounting despair, and Napoleon would have laughed at the _great tragedy_ if he hadn't felt it would irremediably break something between him and the boy.

 _I don't hate horses_ , Napoleon had said, and somehow it had ended in a very uncomfortable trip during which Napoleon had the pleasure to watch Belliard and Murat prance in front of him without a care in the world, and thinking he would go out of his mind with worry seeing what Belliard allowed the child to do.  
In Belliard's defense... It was Joachim Murat.

  
A _tiny_ Joachim Murat, for sure, but clearly, a born horseman if there ever was one.

Napoleon sighed and pressed his heels against the flanks of his horse.

Before him on the road, the tiny Murat was giggling at something "Mr Belliard" was telling him with a show of great secrecy. The child was eating it up.

And..

Oh, don't be ridiculous.

Napoleon wasn't _jealous_.

***

He _wasn't_.

The very idea!

 _Absurd_ , Napoleon huffed while ostensibly reading a very large and dusty book. From behind the heavy tome he could watch a small, dark-haired boy play with a totally unremarkable man and look at him as though said man could pull all the stars out of the sky for him.

The most annoying thing, Napoleon mused, turning a page with a little more force than was strictly necessary, was that Belliard would probably give it a good try.

The man was utterly _besotted_ with the kid.

 _Ridiculous_.

Just because the boy was ~~cu~~ well-behaved - for a child- 

Napoleon scoffed.

There wasn't any reason to fall head over heels just because of one silly child. Even if the silly child had cheeks you maybe wanted to pinch. Even if the child looked at you like you were the greatest revelation the world had ever had. Even if the child literally fell asleep in your arms mid-sentence. Even if...

Damn it.

Napoleon closed the book in a huff. 

Joachim was giving his dear _Mr Belliard_ all his starry-eyed attention. Was he, Napoleon Bonaparte, going to let himself be discarded like a boring old toy for a shiny new thing ? 

Hell no. Mama Letizia hadn't raised a quitter.

 _Mr Belliard_ would regret stepping on _Mr Napoleon_ 's toes.


	2. Chapter 2

His chance struck sooner than he expected.

Joachim had taken to reading with delight, and drawing seemed to be a great passion of his (though Napoleon couldn't make anything out of the scribbles. Disturbingly, Joséphine always knew what the whole mystifying "picture" was about, and oohed and aahed accordingly - _isn't this horse impressive, my dear ?_ while the kid beamed up at them) but basic math lessons however, were met with blank stares - at best.

Strange. 

Of course the child turned to his dear Mr Belliard first, tugging at his sleeve with a hopeful little face and Belliard's face instantly melted - _what a sucker_. Napoleon expected the man's usual nod and immediate agreement to the child's heartfelt request, but to his surprise, there was something different this time in Belliard's eyes.

Doubt.

Worry.

FEAR.

Beautiful, wonderful, _delightful_ fear.

Turned out there was something Mr Belliard wasn't good at, finally. Napoleon inwardly cheered before reprimanding himself.

He could just sit here and let the show unfold, watch the idol topple from his pedestal and the scales fall from tiny Murat's eyes. He _could_.

_Or_ , he could skillfully waltz in and be the saviour - Belliard would be obliged to him, and the little one would fall back into his orbit. 

_Perfect_.

Joachim's eyes lit up, and it was intoxicating, and everything was _right_ again.

This had nothing to do with getting one over on Mr Belliard, Napoleon told himself once more; it just so happened that he was the best man for the job. Yes. Precisely.

It had nothing to do with how sweet hero-worship could feel.

Nothing at all.

***

If Napoleon thought his helping the boy with math would toss Mr Belliard onto the garbage heap of History, he'd been fooling himself. Or, he had seriously underestimated little Joachim's loyalty to his friends. Possibly. 

Sure, he had recovered some sway over the child, but he wasn't satisfied yet. Mr Belliard was still all-important in Joachim's life, his trusty confidante and chosen peer among adults (Joséphine would be his second choice, and Napoleon felt terribly _cheated_ ). It was so unfair that he had to fight for relevance. This was _his_ brother-in-law! _His_ protegee! _His_ little charge! _His_... 

Joséphine was no help at all, professing that she did not understand Napoleon's _difficulty_ about Belliard's and his respective place in the child's esteem.

She actually told him he was ridiculous! Him! 

She even seemed to believe he was jealous.

HA! _Jealous_! Yeah, right!

Napoleon scoffed, kicking a stone with the tip of his boot and watching it sail away into the dust of the alley of Joséphine's garden. _What an utterly ridiculous idea_. If anything, Belliard was the one who couldn't let it go. Why was he still there already ? Oh yeah, supposedly Larrey had sent him to help Napoleon regarding the care and upbringing of little Joachim- he'd even shown him a letter, and of course Napoleon had phoned Larrey (several times) to be _sure_. And yeah, maybe all of this was true, but still - _clearly_ Napoleon was on top of the game, no help needed, _goodbye Mr Belliard_.

You'd think it was obvious.

But oh _no_. The man was determined to stay here forever, or at least until the miniature Murat turned back into an adult (there was still no news on that front). Which could very well never happen. 

Napoleon growled as he entered Malmaison.

He had some serious planning to do.

***

Joachim was in dismay.

_Go get dressed and we'll head out for Paris_ , Mr Napoleon had said. Which was really, really cool as Joachim was really keen on doing just that. The last time they went out, Mr Napoleon had shown him so many awesome places, told him the most amazing stories, brought him on top of towers and into closed rooms he'd somehow managed to get into even though nobody else seemed to be allowed in - Joachim had felt very, very special, and very proud to be with Mr Napoleon. 

_Go get dressed_ , Mr Napoleon had said.

But here was the problem, Joachim thought disconsolately while his eyes rowed over the contents of his wardrobe.

He couldn't wear any of these!

This was a serious problem, mused the little boy whose joy had deflated like a punctured balloon. This certainly was a wardrobe only Mr Napoleon could like. No colors. No feathers. No sparkle. No fluff. No shape. No style!

Joachim was so mortified he sat down on his bed, listless.

Mr Napoleon would be disappointed, he thought, half-heartedly willing himself to muster a tiny flicker of enthusiasm for the outing. But as his eyes came across the Wardrobe of Dread, he shuddered and closed his eyes. Too bad for Paris, and he would certainly have to face Mr Napoleon's _look_ again, but no self-respecting boy could be expected to wear such drab, shapeless clothing. 

It just couldn't be.

And then someone knocked at the door, and Joachim heaved a big sigh, held his head up, little chin set determinedly forward; Mr Napoleon would see it was a _serious_ matter.

But the man who entered the room wasn't Mr Napoleon.

And he had the most _wonderful_ idea in the _whole world_.

***

Two hours.

Napoleon was worried.

Two hours since Belliard had hurriedly absconded with the boy, without saying more than " ABSOLUTE EMERGENCY, don't worry, I've got this covered" and leaving him standing there flabbergasted. What kind of absolute emergency ?!! Napoleon was fairly sure the child was fine, healthy, and reasonably happy. That hadn't stopped him from taking his phone and typing Larrey's number - though he hadn't pressed on. He wasn't afraid of Larrey, of course. He just... didn't want to bother the man unless he was sure his doubts were well-founded.

Two hours. What on earth could Belliard be doing with his kid ?

Joachim was fine, Napoleon repeated to himself. He was fine. Healthy, bouncy, happy to go visit Paris again with "Mr Napoleon". He'd even had stars in his eyes when Napoleon had sent him to his room to get dressed ! (As endearing as this was in the child, Napoleon wondered, distantly, how he'd feel about this when Joachim would become adult Murat again - the adult Murat also had the disturbing power to make his eyes shine.)

Joachim couldn't be sick without him knowing - surely he couldn't be, Napoleon fretted. He frantically recalled every minute he'd spent this day with the boy, and thoroughly reviewed the last three days for good mesure. But _nothing_ came up.

Two hours and a half and Napoleon was googling _"Has my child been kidnapped"_ before illumination struck. Pulling out his phone, he dialled a number, and a cold drawl answered almost instantly:  
"The child and his companion have been located twenty kilometers away from your place. They're coming back to you."  
Before hanging up.

Napoleon shivered.

Nineteen minutes later - not that Napoleon was counting - the screeching of tires could be heard from the gate.

Two joyful voices were heard :a high-pitched, singsong, childish voice -Napoleon unclenched his hands - and Belliard's. 

When the door opened Napoleon, standing rigidly in the middle of room, firmly intended to give them an earful (while lamenting inward how very much like his mother he was turning out). But as the duo flounced in, Napoleon could only look in stupefaction. A tiny Murat bedecked in the most atrocious eyesore of a pink coat Napoleon had ever seen, sunglasses on his nose, bounced towards him with a beaming smile and open arms - was he going to _hug_ him ? - and Belliard dutifully followed, ladden with an unbelievable amount of shopping bags branded with names Napoleon refused to even register.

The boy swooped on him, clutching at his vest.

"Look, Mr Napoleon, _look_!!"

How could one small child _twinkle_ with such determination ?

Napoleon numbly let the little ball of sunshine hug him and bent down to hug him back (he was just relieved it was only a stupid shopping trip; he probably should have guessed) and allowed himself a moment of jubilation - before drawing back in horror.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIS EARS?!” Napoleon demanded, glaring at Belliard malevolently.

“AREN’T THEY THE COOLEST?!” the child beamed, little fingers tugging gently at the shiny new gold earrings in each of his freshly-pierced ears. 

“I only did as he asked me to,” Belliard replied smoothly, meeting Napoleon’s hostile gaze unflinchingly. 

“AND NOW MR BELLIARD AND I MATCH!” the boy exclaimed, and Napoleon could scarcely believe that one little creature could be capable of containing such unfettered joy. 

Napoleon was at a loss.

***

Little Joachim was, in Napoleon's opinion, exceedingly proud of his new earrings. What was more irritating was his insistant chorus of "Mr Belliard and I match." Which was something of a crucial point, apparently.

And no, Napoleon wasn't jealous or anything.

It was just annoying.

Once again Mr Belliard was the coolest man on earth and Napoleon might as well be furniture in the boy's eyes.

This couldn't go on.

The idea came unexpectedly in the middle of the night. Napoleon sat up in the bed, startling Joséphine, and rubbed his hands in glee.

The next morning, Joachim was polishing off his pancakes and licking the hot chocolate moustache off his upper lip when an engine roar tore the morning calm. Surprised, the child jumped off his chair and rushed to the door.

The sight that greeted him stopped him short in his tracks.

Perched atop a gleaming, thrumming motorcycle, was Mr Napoleon; and he was clad in leather from the head to the tip of his sparkling, brand new boots. 

Joachim gawked.

"Well," Mr Napoleon said, his eyes twinkling. "Aren't you going to join me? "

Only at this moment did the boy notice the _side-car_.

This was the _awesomest thing ever_ ; stunned, the child could only nod frantically, and rush into the house in a mad dash to retrieve his coat when Mr Napoleon asked him to. 

That day, the residents of Rueil were treated to a sight they wouldn't forget too soon: the serious Mr Bonaparte making rounds all over the city, on a roaring motorcycle, entirely dressed in leather, hovering protectively over a laughing child whose bright amaranth coat, windswept black curls and beaming smile gave off a joy and energy that seemed to overflow the side-car he was carefully ensconced in. Men turned their heads for an incredulous second look, while women swooned. The quick thinking ones pulled off their phones to take pictures.

A blurry video soon emerged on Joséphine's Facebook page.

If Belliard politely repressed a snicker, Lannes' uproarious guffaws could be heard for a mile.

Napoleon was enchanted. Tiny Joachim was beside himself with joy.

The starry-eyed look on the child's face when Napoleon kitted him out in leather ( WE MATCH, MR NAPOLEON!) was etched forever into Napoleon's memory. It was worth Joséphine's laughter, and her jokes about his new "aesthetic"; it was even worth Lannes' strange call, which the man spent sniggering and trying to draw breath without managing a single coherent word before hanging up and calling again, to no avail. It was worth Caroline's rant on security, safety, and sense.

Joachim was vibrating in his arms when he took him off the side-car, nearly delirious with happiness.

A happiness _Napoleon_ had brought him. 

Totally worth it.

***

Joachim was super happy.

Not only was Mr Belliard awesome, but as it turns out, so was Mr Napoleon! He had even invited a very nice, very kind man to La Maison just to meet Joachim, and told him the man would be delighted to meet him! But Joachim hadn't remembered the name.

The man was really as kind as Mr Napoleon had said! Mr Jozef (that's how he had told Joachim to call him) had played with him for _the whole afternoon_ , and told him tales from his country, and even cooked a meal for him! _AND_ he was very stylish and he had immediately noticed Joachim's new earrings!

Joachim liked him very much, and he told Mr Napoleon how happy meeting Mr Jozef had made him (Maman had taught him to thank people when they did nice things for him). But Mr Napoleon didn't smile back at him.

Joachim didn't let it trouble him much, because yet another person arrived that day, and Mrs Pauline was a beautiful and very kind lady who hugged him on sight and smiled at him when he shyly asked her if he could sit next to her (she made room for him and even let him cuddle up to her when the evening drew on and Joachim got a little tired and laid his head against her arm). Mrs Pauline was very, very lovely, Joachim sighed as his eyes closed in spite of himself. He could hear a gentle laugh, felt a feathery touch on his hair and his cheek, and then he was hoisted into strong arms. The smell and feel made him distantly recognize Mr Jozef, but he was already nodding off when he heard from afar a rumble, a laugh, and then silence.

***

Napoleon was _fuming_.

First Belliard, and now Poniatowski and Pauline! 

He'd made his peace with Belliard's presence (he didn't have to like it, but he... accepted it), but really, Poniatowski was going too far. Why, oh why had he invited him ? (yes, because he knew Tiny Murat would _love_ him, love the gesture, and love Napoleon even more for it... so why was he surprised by the very result he'd hoped for ?) And for sure the boy had been appropriately grateful and his eyes had shone (and he had hugged Napoleon in delight and told him he was _the best_ ), and it had felt... _good_ , but...  
It wasn't supposed to go further than awed joy and gratefulness.

Napoleon had obviously miscalculated.

Poniatowski had been, as Napoleon counted on, delighted by the child Joachim, taking to him like a duck to water - and of course the boy had returned the feeling, and they'd soon been thick as thieves. It was like Joachim couldn't unlatch himself from Poniatowski's side.

Or from Pauline's. Because Paulette had invited herself along Poniatowski (Napoleon did NOT want to know if their occasional affair was on again at the moment) and promptly fallen in love with the child herself. 

Which, fair enough. But loving Napoleon's new little charge was one thing.

It was quite another to state that you were just going to take the child away with you - you won't mind, I'm sure, Napoleon, Pauline had purred while Poniatowski gleefully absconded into the night, the sleeping child flush against his chest.

The sight had set off Joséphine and Pauline's laughter, but Napoleon had only felt a cold hand squeezing something inside his chest. A grimace of discontent soon left place to a scowl, and when the women stopped laughing, Pauline turned to him and raised a brow.

"Don't mind him", Joséphine mock-whispered. "He's jealous."

Napoleon clenched his jaw and stamped out in a cold fury.

***

The night hadn't brought him much peace.

Whatever rest he'd managed to get was offset as soon as Napoleon entered the kitchen the next morning, his eyes zeroing on Joachim. The child was on Pauline's knee, giggling at Poniatowski who was offering him a croissant with an expression that made Napoleon think of one or two depictions of the devil in arts. A smiling Belliard pouring hot chocolate topped off the familial scene.

Napoleon forced the scowl off his face, and not too soon: the little boy had noticed him.

"Hello, Mr Napoleon!" he chirped brightly.

Napoleon, to his horror, could only manage a growl.

The child recoiled in surprise, big blue eyes welling up.

And as Napoleon felt worse, his tongue sharpened, as it unfortunately tended to.

"What is it now, " he heard himself say, and he already _hated himself_. The boy was looking at him, uncomprehending, his confused gaze searching for a reason to Mr Napoleon's very unusual behavior. A horrified Napoleon then turned his back to him but couldn't help himself.

"Nothing _Mr Belliard_ can't fix".

Napoleon wanted to disappear into the depths of the earth as soon as the words left his lips. Why, _why_ , did he let his scornful tongue hurt this child. His kid. Joachim. The child he'd been entrusted with. Oh God, Larrey was rightfully going to murder him. And, he thought as he turned to see three stony-faced adults and a desperately confused little boy, Larrey wouldn't be the only one.

Pauline's eyes were a promise of death as she held Joachim tight in her embrace. The child looked from Napoleon to Belliard, distress written in every line of his little face.

"What, " Belliard stated in a deathly hush, " do you mean, exactly ?"

Napoleon privately thought this tone of voice was perfectly suitable for a death sentence.

But he had no time to formulate words, as a furious little blur leapt out of Pauline's lap in a righteous fury and aimed right for him. Stunned and miserable, Napoleon would have let him, but Belliard promptly caught the upset child into his arms and left the room, holding onto the wrathful child whose little body vibrated with anger. 

Never had Napoleon felt like such a failure.

"Bravo," said Pauline's icy voice. " You've outdone yourself." She rose, and Poniatowski followed her out of the kitchen, his face impassive.

How was Napoleon going to sort this out ?


End file.
